They met a long time ago as bitter divorcees, eager and willing to feed into each other's bitterness. Astarion has since mellowed, that bitterness transformed into a faint sense of shame and a wistfulness for something he can't quite remember anymore.

He finds her in the tavern alone, in her sad little corner. Astarion mingles with mortals every once in a while, mostly at the mining camps but sometimes in Cadens. There's something familiar about these streets, even though they've undoubtedly changed after centuries of political upheaval.

"What sad sob story brought you here tonight, darling?" he muses, finding a seat with his back to the wall and a glass of wine in one hand. The sob story, he assumes, is not her own - he knows she tends to respond to calls for punishments against the cruel. It's quite busy here tonight, there's some sort of festival going on in the streets that he hasn't bothered to learn more about. Astarion appears human, which she might know grates on him - his ears rounded and his eyes a rich brown that could be mistaken for red in a certain light. Still, even as a human there's an unnatural beauty to him - and when he smiles his teeth appear a bit too sharp.